In the movies the boy always meets the girl in some serendipitous manner. He wins her despite his obvious lack of charm. He is not a good guy in general, or maybe he’s even too nice of a guy, Maybe that’s his problem. He is either too good for her, or too bad for her. Either way his friends and her friends will wonder what they are doing together.
In the movies, unlike real life, they meet in a bar. There is nothing bad about this besides the fact that it is a bar. How many of these true-love movies meet in a bookstore? Park? Beach? Oh, I know, I’ve seen relationships start because of the bar scene. But I’ve never seen them last. One night stands don’t typically set a healthy foundation for relationships. But then, what does?
So the question that matter’s most in this situation is: what is important? Are the late nights and long conversations what make a relationship meaningful? Are the drawn out silences that never seem to be awkward a sign? Is it the flames that dance up and down your body at the others touch? Is it what you both see yourself doing in five years or ten? Is it having someone, anyone else, in your corner when you feel down and out?
Where we came from doesn’t matter, nor does what we’ve done. The man is suppose to be rather cold and aloof. Not in touch with his feelings, emotions, unable to show her how he feels or why he wants her. She is ragtag in so many ways. Unlike in real life ragtag is desirable. Give me a woman who is forging ahead. Moving forward and ready to jump into the water—though it may be filled with sharks—at a moments notices. Someone who’s heart is red and raw and open. Someone who isn’t afraid of what that feels like, but shows you the left ventricle and how it’s been rubbed raw by other men in the past. And then show her yours—the sad scars of yesteryear. The ones that make you a pessimist when dealing with woman. The abrasions that are constantly waiting for that other shoe to drop. Because when it does it’s like a blade from the headsman’s ax. Swift. Decisive. Without remorse and then you are alone again.
Is that what we all wait for? Those of us who play the dating game? Do we wait for that shoe? Do we ever talk about it when something better than the one before comes along. When a hand is over your heart is it easier to push away or draw breath in? When the sun has risen on you both, is it a sense of unexplained trepidation and the want for greasy food and coffee, or is it one that says you should have spoken with her just a little longer before you both fell asleep.
Give me the hand holding and heart beating and the long hard conversations about what matters.
Winter Station 